The Bluestocking's Dilemma Page 25

  “Your note hinted that Caro, I mean, Lady Caroline, was in some sort of danger,” he interrupted without preamble, his dark brows drawn together in a worried frown.

  Helena looked at him straightly. “Yes, I believe so. She is ordinarily as capable of getting herself out of a scrape as she is at tumbling into one, but this time I fear she may encounter more difficulties than she bargained for.’’

  Helena repeated Caro’s remark at the breakfast tables which had aroused her suspicions. “So you see, I very much fear she has gone to hear him speak. It is not that I am anxious about her reputation, but the mood of the crowds has been so ugly of late, and that of the forces for law and order equally so. I worry there may be some sort of confrontation. I have no idea how she escaped from the house or how she disguised herself, for she would never be so rash as to embroil herself in something like this without precautions.”

  The marquess was listening intently, but at the mention of disguise, there was an arrested expression on his face. “Tony’s breeches,” he breathed.

  “What?” Despite her familiarity with Caro’s eccentricities, her companion was taken aback.

  “Never mind,” he flung over his shoulder as he hurried out. “I shall recognize her.” The marquess refrained from voicing the fear that other, less honorable men than he might also notice that the slim youth was not what she pretended to be and take it into their heads to. ... He could not bear the thought, and resolutely putting that out of his mind, as well as all the other dreadful possibilities that presented themselves to an imagination that always seemed to be over-active where she was concerned, the marquess threw himself onto Caesar and headed in the direction of Spa Fields, stopping only to send a footman to Daventry House to alert Watkins that his master required him to follow him there in the carriage with all haste.

  By the time Nicholas reached the vicinity, such a multitude had gathered that he despaired of ever singling Caro out among the crowd. Anxiously scanning back and forth, he edged Caesar cautiously into the midst of the throng. But they, none too well-disposed towards one possessed of enough wealth to be astride a horse, were singularly unyielding. Nicholas sighed. It did indeed appear to be a hopeless task and the crowd, which had been waiting impatiently for the promised speakers to show up, was growing restless, its mood beginning to turn ugly enough to be a cause of serious concern.

  At last his eyes lighted upon her, and Nicholas almost laughed out loud with the sheer relief of it. He should have known that no matter what the gathering, be it the most select of the Upper Ten Thousand or the most lowly and discontented rabble, Caro would stand out. Somehow there seemed to be an aura of purity and self-possession that surrounded her and set her apart from the rest. Disguised as she was by Tony’s breeches and a cap that must have been borrowed from one of the stable lads, she nevertheless could not hide the erect posture, the proud tilt of the chin, and the alert expression as she surveyed the scene. However, she was separated from him by a sea of rough-looking characters and Nicholas was at a loss as to how to proceed.

  He had just resigned himself to making slow but steady progress using Caesar’s broad shoulders to clear a passage to her when a whisper ran through the crowd, “Pssst, it’s the guards!” Spectators twisted their necks looking nervously in either direction and glancing suspiciously at their neighbors while trying to locate possible avenues of escape.

  The moment Caro had arrived at the meeting place, she regretted her rash decision. She should have known the crowd would more closely resemble the angry mob that now surrounded her than the gentlemanly audiences of the more enlightened liberal political lectures she had attended. But her thinking had been none too clear in the past two days and, driven by a need to prove to herself that despite a momentary weakness at the Countess of Nayland’s rout, she was the same independent Caro Waverly as ever, she had thrown caution to the winds. Now, observing the grim-set faces on either side of her, she was not so sure. She cast about for some opening through which she could slip unnoticed, but there was none. Worse still, the crowd was growing restless and some of the people around her began to mutter, “It’s a trap, lads. Hunt ain’t going to come and we’ll be trampled like sheep.” True or not, Caro had read enough of the unpredictable and excitable nature of revolutionary mobs to know that she was in serious danger. She began to wriggle between burly bodies in a frantic effort to escape, when a beefy hand grabbed her shoulder. “ ‘Ere, lad, and just where do you think you’re going?”

  Caro had only a momentary glance at a ferocious grimy face peering down into hers when someone shouted, “The guards! Run for it!”

  The hand let go of her so abruptly that she fell just as the mass of people exploded wildly in all directions and she found herself falling helplessly. Caro grabbed wildly for something, anything to stop her from pitching headlong underneath thousands of frenzied feet, but just as she reached out to grab the belt of a solid-looking fellow ahead of her, something struck her in the side of the head and the world went black.

  Not five yards away, Nicholas saw her go down and, frantic with worry, he leapt off Caesar, pulling the struggling horse along with him. Using the animal as a shield against the worst of the onslaught, he bent over the crumpled form and gathered her up in his arms. There was no time to lose as the multitude, egged on by shouts of “Treachery! Soldiers!” was near to panic.

  With a tremendous effort, the marquess tossed Caro’s limp body across the saddle and swung himself up behind her, pulling her upright against him and urging Caesar away from the headlong rush and towards the carriage, which he spied waiting patiently for him in Exmouth Street.

  After what seemed like ages, they at last reached the carriage and a worried-looking Watkins, whose eyes had been anxiously scanning the crowd. His face broke into a smile of relief as he spied Nicholas. “I’m that glad to see you, sir. It’s a right nasty mood they be in.”

  “Yes. And the less we linger here looking like gentry, the better off we shall be,” the marquess replied grimly as he tossed the coachman the reins and slid down, still maintaining a firm grip on his unconscious companion. Once on the ground, he pulled her gently down into his arms, making straight for the carriage while the coachman secured Caesar to the back and leapt onto the box.

  At any other time, the marquess would have marveled at his servant’s skill in convincing three nervous horses to ignore an unruly mob and thread their way through the crowded streets, but his mind was totally taken up by the pathetic bundle in his arms. Whenever Nicholas had envisioned Caro, as he had so often done in the past few days, he had pictured her as he had last seen her—slim, tall, and vibrant with passion. It seemed impossible that such a magnificent creature could be so frail and helpless as she now felt in his arms.

  From the moment the crowd had started to panic, Nicholas had experienced a fear greater than he could ever remember having endured, even during the bloodiest battles in the Peninsula. There, death had been omnipresent, but though he was fond of his comrades-in-arms and would have rushed to their aid without a moment’s hesitation, he had always known that everyone there with him had chosen to assume the same risks he had assumed and with the same sense that he had, of a job needing to be done that outweighed personal considerations. Now, it was entirely different. For some unfathomable reason, he felt responsible for Caro. True, she had never given the least indication that she needed help from anyone. In fact, he expected that had she been conscious, she would have resisted all offers of assistance. But seeing her so pure, so lovely, even concealed as she was by the ridiculous hat and dusty breeches, among the angry brutal mob, had made his throat constrict with fear for her. Agile as she was, she was no match for men who had spent their entire lives in hard physical labor and who, in their rush to protect themselves, would have killed a fellow spectator as soon as look at him. Nicholas had forced his way as quickly as possible towards her, but seeing the great ruffian who had knocked her down in his haste to get away, he was beside himself with rage an
d terror at the inevitable rush of the mob and his helplessness to stop it. At last he had reached her and he was so relieved to find her that he had wanted to fall to his knees, gather her close to him, and never let her go, but instead, in his concern over their escape, he’d had to put all that out of his mind until he had gotten them to safety.

  Now, in the security of the carriage, he could at last relax, as the waves of relief washed over him. For the longest time, all he could do was sit, gently stroking her hair, marveling at the softness of her skin, and the way the long dark lashes fanned out on her pale cheek. There was a slight smudge on her brow where the fellow’s arm had knocked her, but it didn’t appear to be serious. Nicholas had seen enough of war to know that she was only temporarily unconscious and, oddly enough, he welcomed the opportunity to be with her thus, caressing her cheek with his hand without worrying about how she would react upon waking in the arms of someone who seemingly had angered her enough that she had been avoiding all possibility of contact with him for the better part of a fortnight.

  Caro sighed and stirred. She looked so childlike and defenseless that he could not help brushing her brow with his lips. She sighed again and he pressed his lips gently to hers. The kiss was much softer than that at the ball, but infinitely sweeter. Her lips were so soft and delicate, so innocent and so generous, as if made to share the passion he knew lay underneath the demure exterior. No, demure was not precisely the word, for Caro was a vibrant creature whose very being expressed an energy and enthusiasm for life, but it was a childlike enthusiasm and the marquess badly wanted to awaken the woman he felt certain lay beneath.

  Caro stirred again, muttered, nestling more closely to him, and all such thoughts fled from Nicholas’s mind, pushed aside by a wave of such tenderness that even he was taken by surprise. “Hush, my love,” he whispered, gently pushing aside a strand of dark hair that had fallen across her face. “Hush. I have you safe. Rest, little one.” He stroked the shining hair, tracing the firm curve of the cheek, smoothing the frown from her brow.

  Nicholas would have been more than content to ride this way forever, but Watkins, no more taken in than his master by the lady’s disguise, had pulled up before reaching the Countess of Welham’s mansion.

  “My lord,” he leapt down and whispered urgently. “Be you wanting me to stop out here or back in the stables?”

  “In the stables. Thank you, Watkins. You’re a good man.’’

  The carriage made its way around back and the marquess dispatched one of the grooms to fetch Susan, who appeared immediately, wide-eyed with surprise at the strange summons.

  “Susan, your mistress has been slightly hurt.” Seeing the maid’s look of dismay, the marquess hastened to reassure her. “Truly ‘tis nothing. In fact, it would be far worse if the rest of the household were to hear of it than the injury is in itself. If I can carry her, can you ensure that we return her safely to her rooms without notice or comment?”

  The maid nodded and led him to a side door that opened onto a narrow stairway. They climbed several nights of stairs until they reached a door that, putting a finger to her lips, his guide carefully opened before peering out. Then, beckoning to him, she led him to her mistress’s room where she pulled back the coverlet. Reluctantly, Nicholas laid his burden down on the bed, covering her carefully before leaning down to kiss her brow. “Rest, my love,” he murmured, laying her hand on the coverlet.

  The dark lashes fluttered and the gray eyes stared at him blankly for a moment, then Caro frowned in puzzlement. “Nicholas?”

  “Yes, love,” he took her hand.

  “What, what happened?”

  “You were struck unconscious. I brought you home.” Not wishing to distress her, he spoke calmly and matter-of-factly, as though this were an everyday occurrence, but his heart was pounding. More than ever he wanted to snatch her back up against his chest, holding her tight and safe until she had recovered. Then he wanted to smother her with kisses and tell her just how much he loved her.

  The gray eyes regarded him gravely for a moment. “Thank you for coming to my rescue. I don’t deserve it. I have nothing but my own folly to thank for such a disaster.”

  He kissed the hand in his before laying it back down. “Think nothing of it, love. Now, go to sleep. There’s a good girl.” And without giving her a chance to reply, he crept out as silently and surreptitiously as he had entered, keeping an eye out for the other inhabitants of the countess’s elegant establishment.

  Echoing his words, Susan helped her mistress out of the incriminating clothes and then, pulling the curtains and assuring her that she would tell anyone who asked that Caro had gone to bed with a headache, she too departed leaving Caro to darkness and a host of unsettling thoughts.

  Chapter 30

  The rest that Nicholas and Susan had urged on Caro simply refused to come and she lay alone in the darkness staring at the ceiling for what seemed like hours. Hazy as the events of the afternoon were, one clear impression remained and that was the indescribable sensation of comfort and safety she had felt in the marquess’s arms. Imperfect as the memory was, she did know that from the moment darkness had enveloped her, she had felt somehow that he was there watching over her, caring for her, protecting her, and she had relaxed. The only problem was that she had wanted it to last forever and that wish filled Caro with alarm.

  It made her fear for her peace of mind and her hard-won independence. Were these the merest facade? Caro had striven all her life to learn how to take care of herself, to manage her life as well as anyone, so she would never need to depend on anybody for sustenance of any sort. And she had been proud that she was so self-sufficient and self-contained. What a mockery it was! As soon as the faintness had assailed her and the strong arms had seized her and held her close, she had allowed them to support her, savoring the shelter they offered and gratefully abandoning the struggle to fight the crowd and her own weakness. Desperately trying to recall in clear detail every tender caress, every whispered endearment, she hoped fervently that she had remembered it all correctly. Could it really have been true that the marquess had stroked her hair, kissed her, and called her “my love,” reassuring her that he had her safe? Even more surprising was how passionately she wished for this to be true. She wanted Nicholas to hold her tenderly and take care of her. She wanted him to love her and cherish her as much as she loved him.

  And she did love him. That was the upsetting thing. If it had just been lust she had felt when he had first kissed her, that would have been bad enough, but at least it would only have been her body that had betrayed her. Now, she felt as though her mind and heart had somehow deserted her. Slowly, without being in the least aware of it, Caro had come to count on the marquess for so many things—stimulating conversation, amusement, and a shared perspective on people, politics, and life itself—that he had become very necessary to her happiness. This growing dependency made her wish to get away, to forget about him before it could grow any stronger.

  Caro sighed and turned over, burying her head in the pillow. But feeling its softness and smelling the sweet lavender scent only reminded her of how infinitely comforting it had been to lean her aching head against a firm chest, inhale the marquess’s reassuring masculine smell and let him take care of her for the moment.

  No. I won’t let myself, she told herself resolutely. He was just being kind, helping someone in need the way he would his mother or Clary or Ceddie or Clarence. I should be grateful for his kindness and that is that.

  But something inside her longed for so much more, longed to feel loved and protected by him forever. You can’t have that, she admonished herself severely. He doesn’t love you. You’re not the beautiful sophisticated sort of woman who appeals to him and, furthermore, you don’t wish to be, nor do you wish to be looked after for the rest of your life. Oh, but how nice it would be at least to share one’s life, its burdens, and its joys with someone like the marquess. It had made things like the excitement of a balloon ride, the endearing a
ntics of Ceddie and Clarence, and the intensity of parliamentary debate all that much more enjoyable when she could look over at Nicholas, catch his eye, and know that he was appreciating it all just as she was.

  Caro gave a great sob and gulped for air. Get hold of yourself before it is too late, she counseled herself. Return to Waverly. Take up life where you left off. Immerse yourself in the works that make you feel truly happy and worthwhile. And, after talking severely to herself in this vein for some time, she resolved to do just that.

  But she knew deep in her heart of hearts that she had never truly known happiness before—the contentment of being useful and productive, yes—but not the heady joy of life as she had lived it in the past few weeks. However, having chosen a course of action and settled upon a mode of existence, empty though it might appear by contrast, she was able to view the future with enough equanimity to fall into a fitful sleep, knowing that the next day she would be going somewhere she could at least find peace if not happiness.

  The minute the smallest crack of daylight was able to creep under the curtains, Caro was up and about, dispatching Susan to ready a footman to alert Dimmock and Tim, and packing the few essentials while she wrote notes to Helena and Lavinia, explaining that urgent business had recalled her to Waverly Court and that she hoped they would forgive her abrupt departure. It was the flimsiest of excuses, but she knew Helena would be too tactful and Lavinia too uninterested to tax her on it.

  That accomplished, there was nothing left to do but climb into the carriage and stare unseeingly out the window at London coming to life as she enjoyed the peace that solitude brought. She had even left Susan behind on the pretext that she needed her to supervise the rest of the packing. At first, the maid had protested, wanting desperately to be with her mistress in order to minister to her in all the little things and ease some of the strain she saw in the pale drawn face, but she had allowed herself to be overruled when she saw how much Caro needed to be alone.